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Post by Mason Breaker on Aug 19, 2010 22:03:10 GMT -5
Mason, Keith, and Patrick have ventured out towards the train station, in hopes of some sort of escape, of sanctuary. Mason is losing hope of ever finding his daughter, and evacution is looking less and less likely.
Meanwhile, Rae, Dahlia, and Austin are also venturing into the area, hoping to find a way to escape the twisted abominations that now chase them...
It is time to bring these worlds together...For better or worse.
End of the line.
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Post by Mason Breaker on Aug 19, 2010 22:12:55 GMT -5
The wind blew eerily through the abandoned area, echoing in the abandoned hallways. Corpses here, corpses there, all from the desperate people who tried to escape the oncoming infection, only to fall short and be murdered by their friends and family...
Course, this was not on Mason's mind. Sure, he felt bad for those poor souls, but his mind was elsewhere. The large Irishman was losing hope. Of getting evacuted, of surviving at all... Of finding Dahlia...
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of his meloncholy. He didn't want to concern his teammates.
"Alright lads...Here we are."
He came to a stop at the front doors, the large sign reading "Nevan Railroad Station". Truth be told, he was rather surprised by it's size. He had always thought such stations to be... Well, small, but this was like an airport or something.
Whistling quietly, he stepped inside, gazing around the large area. Shops dotted here and there, a few wandering infected idling about.
"Goddamn this place is big." He whispered, not wanting his voice to carry though the entire station. "C'mre, look at this!"
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Post by Patrick Schrader on Aug 19, 2010 22:38:25 GMT -5
Behind the large Irishman was the former Ranger from Texas. Within the short period of time, Patrick has developed a trust between Mason and Keith. He decided to go along with them, promising to help the Irishman unite with his daughter, with the hope of finding his own wife.
With his grandfather's rifle in hand, he scavanged through the unusually large train station. Even the DART stations over at Dallas weren't as large as this station (Then again, the DART system was sorta like a subway station).
"This is like the DFW International Airport of Train stations," whispered Patrick as he continued along.
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Post by Lizzie on Aug 20, 2010 17:48:59 GMT -5
Huff, huff, huff.
By the time Luigi caught up to Austin, Dahlia, and Rae he was breathless. The rag-tag team of four were in a railroad station trying to find a way out, but to no avail. From what he could see, it was deserted except for the zombies, of course.
"I..." The young boy leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "I turn around for one second...and you guys run off."
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Austin Murphy
Junior Member
I'm living in history, baby
Posts: 55
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Post by Austin Murphy on Aug 20, 2010 18:37:34 GMT -5
Austin was leading up front and didn't realize that Luigi fell behind. It wasn't until he heard his heavy breathing that he realize that they almost gone off without him.
"Well sorry there kid, but you know this world," replied Austin, "we got to move fast and have to be fully aware of your surroundings. Although if you are having trouble keeping up, you can take the lead."
Clearly, being with a team was a whole lot different than being alone, and this isn't something that isn't new to the young adult. Even though it is wise to be in a group, it doesn't come with its own disadvantages. For example, if you have one weak teammate, it is likely that your whole team will fail. However, Austin liked his new ragtag group. Although he somewhat regrets leaving the Director and the others behind, he feels accomidated with the people he's with.
He then took a breath and look around the Railroad station. It was sorta like the Airport, well smaller, but still it was still pretty big for a Train station. It had a large variety of stores and resturants; quite impressive for station of this maginidute to be in a town this small. Upon scanning the hallway, he saw a glorious site.
"It can't be," muttered Austin, "It is....a White Castle. There's a fucking White Castle in the train station. This is unbelievible." With that, he slowly drifted towards the holy place of burgers.
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Post by Keith the Great on Aug 20, 2010 19:02:38 GMT -5
Keith was the last into the train station, but the first to dash forward towards a stopped train. “Aw, man, I love trains!” exclaimed, pausing to enjoy the echo he got from the enormous room. “I once rode one all the way to Tennessee, then they kicked me out ‘cause I didn’t actually buy a ticket.” He gazed at the shattered florescent lights, obviously deep in some flashback that may or may not have occurred.
He sighed dreamily, then shook it off and strolled towards one of the scattered vending machines. Most of the glass ones were already smashed in, but the tougher soda-machines were dented, but intact. Keith headed for the nearest one. “Hey, guys!” he said. “Help me move this thing?”
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Post by Mason Breaker on Aug 20, 2010 22:19:56 GMT -5
Raising an eyebrow at the Southerner's request, the Mason walked over to the vending machine in question, looking it over. Truth be told, he could use a little refreshment...
Setting his weapons down, he sized up the machine before getting beside it, giving a few experimental shoves.
Grunting, he threw his weight against it, tipping it a bit before it settled back on its legs. Another shove yeilded it tipping a bit more, and again, and again, until the Irishman built up enough momentum to fling himself back at it.... Only to end up with a nasty smack to the head.
Grumbling, he rubbed the bump. Now it was less of him wanting to get the goods inside the machine as it was him wanting to just get it open.
But how...
At that moment, he heard a rather familier series of growls, mingled with what sounded like absolute gibberish. A smile slowly came across him as he grabbed his auto shotgun, cautiosly making his way towards the noise...
The next moment, he was dashing back from around the corner, a Charger hot on his heels.
"Move it!" He stated before diving out of the way of the oncoming Charger, the mutant rushing straight for the machine in it's attempt to get Mason. With a startled howl, it slammed full-force into it, knocking it over with a dull thud. Luckily, it was only loud enough to get the attention of a few nearby infected, easily dispatched, as was the now stumbling Charger.
"Keith, have at it."
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Post by Keith the Great on Aug 20, 2010 22:39:56 GMT -5
Despite the whole bullfighting scene (it was a real challenge to resist yelling ‘Toro, Toro!’ during Mason’s little battle), Keith couldn’t help but break into a grin when the vending machine hit the ground. He lent a hand with the few zombies that followed, but once the coast was clear he immediately vanished behind the machine.
It took a little work from Mr. Knife, but eventually some wires got moved around and others tossed aside. Not even a minute had passed before Keith was out of the tangled wires and flopping over the side of the downed machine. He bounced to his feet, grinned, and kicked the button for regular Coca-Cola. Something inside the machine snapped off and released a cascade of bottles to pour out the bottom like a regular sink faucet.
“That never gets old,” Keith said, snatching a drink from the ground and struggling with the cap. “Anyway, what’re we plannin’ to do here? I mean, I can’t hot-wire a train or anythin’.”
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Post by Patrick Schrader on Aug 20, 2010 23:27:03 GMT -5
The Rancher found it quite ridiculious how far Mason and Keith went to get a drink. But after popping a few shots and cracking a few skulls, Patrick's forgotten thrist made him thankful for that rewarding Coke. Though he was more of a fan of Dr. Pepper, the sweet and refreshing taste of the soda was satisfing for the Texan.
“Anyway, what’re we plannin’ to do here? I mean, I can’t hot-wire a train or anythin’,” pondered Keith as he struggled with the cap.
Upon there, Patrick replied, "I don't know, but with the look of things, this might of been another CEDA evac point. I say we scavage the area for weapons and supplies, then try to find clues where they're moving next. If we could trace their next move, we could find some sorta transport get there before they move out." With that, the ex-soldier chunged his drink and threw it in the nearest recycling bin.
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Post by Dahlia Breaker on Aug 21, 2010 22:27:03 GMT -5
The small, auburn-headed girl turned around as Luigi arrived, her expression turning happy. (Or, happier.)
"This place is so big Luigi! It's like the airport!" She stopped for a moment, thinking. "But not that big! And instead of planes it has trains."
Merrily humming to herself, she skipped ahead a bit, careful to stay behind Mr. Austin.
"I wonder if anyone's here~?" She sing-songed, skipping on the tiles.
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Rae Beckham
New Member
Heads are gonna be shot.
Posts: 48
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Post by Rae Beckham on Aug 22, 2010 21:47:45 GMT -5
Rae could only lift a slender eyebrow as Austin ventured over to the 'White Castle'. Shaking her head, she followed him.
"Hold up Gunner, you're gonna end up getting yourself killed if you go on your own." she pointed out.
Hey, the guy might be good with guns but he wasn't invinsible.
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Austin Murphy
Junior Member
I'm living in history, baby
Posts: 55
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Post by Austin Murphy on Aug 22, 2010 22:24:17 GMT -5
Rae was right. He knew he shouldn't wonder off on his own with no knowledge what to expect for a mere hamburger. Hell, he could get hurt or killed if he did. But these aren't mere hamburgers; these were White Castle burgers. They're so tiny and delicious that you could eat like 10 or 20 of them. Besides, he was Austin Murphy, slayer of zombies and the pioneer of the New Dead World....ok maybe he thinking a bit too much of himself, but he has beaten tougher odds than exploring a fast food joint in the middle of a Train Station. But yet again, it would be nice dine with some friends.
"Your right, Rea," replyed Austin, "which is why we're going in together. I mean think about, we haven't had a decent meal in a long while."
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Post by Moro Ashford on Aug 23, 2010 22:46:53 GMT -5
I'm alive.
The thought was like a steady anthem drumming through her brain; it kept her feet dragging through the mud, the heavy rifle in her hand. For days Moro Ashford had forced the thought to prevail through pain, loneliness, and fear; her eyes were blank and glassy, grey orbs staring flickering around at every shadow, body tensing at the smallest noise.
I'm still fucking alive.
They hadn't meant to leave her, of that the mechanic was sure; hell, she had thought herself dead as well. She had been swept out of sight by a smoker in one of the many farmer's fields they had past, freed herself with a lucky ricochet of her gun, but was then immediately seized by a Jockey as she climbed back to her feet. Blind, shouts for help drowned out by the shrieks of the infected, Moro had stumbled further and further away, saved only when a random and lucky thrash sent the woman's head smashing into the base of a tree, snapping the infected's warped spine and rendering his victim unconscious. Much later she had awoken, and since then, she had been walking.
And walking. And walking.
But I'm still alive.
It was by more sheer, dumb luck that the mechanic was able to meander into the train station; stomach twisted with hunger, she quietly slipped in, looking for provisions. Her rifle had run out of ammo days ago. Knee deep in mangled bodies inside what she presumed had once been a vendor's kitchen, the young woman started at a voice.
“Aw, man, I love trains!” her heart skittered over a beat; that wasn't just any voice.
Hesitating for a moment, torn on whether or not to allow herself to get her hopes up, Moro untangled herself from the mess, her jeans bloodied and ruined up to her knees, and stumbled to the door.
Sure enough, not a hundred yards from where she stood, was a familiar group of faces.
Relief bled through her at an almost unbearable potency; the strength in her legs wavered and threatened to give way, rare tears welling in her eyes. Forgetting the rules of surviving an apocalypse, she raised her hands over her head, waving them frantically.
"Hey!" she cried, taking a step forward. It didn't even register that they were having some zombie problems of their own...she was simply so glad to see them, alive, within reachable distance, that all fear fled from her mind.
Until a familiar growl brought her back to earth. Crouching in the shadow of an overturned bench, hollow, murderous eyes stared out from underneath a dark hood, caked blood on chapped and torn lips. For a second, the two regarded one another, and then the Hunter leapt.
Instinctively, Moro seized the firing edge of her gun and swung it like a bat; momentarily rebuffed, the monster stumbled back, crouched again, and pinned the exhausted survivor before she could recover.
The back of her head smacked the tile hard, splashing bright flashes of color across her eyes. Lifting her hands above her face in vain effort to protect herself, Moro screamed and writhed as the Hunter's long nails tore at the fabric of her sleeves and shirt, ripping into her arms and torso.
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Post by Mason Breaker on Aug 23, 2010 23:41:28 GMT -5
Taking another swig of his hard-earned Coke, Mason was about to respond when he heard a voice that he thought had been lost to the world.
"Hey!". Came a weak voice, one that carried the feelings of relief and utter exhaustion.
He quickly did a double take when he saw Moro stumble out of a room, not more than a hundred yards away. Something clikced in his brain, a feeling of joy that he hadn't felt in a while since he met his fellow survivours, only stronger. Moro was alive!
He had been the first to try to find her when she got yanked by that Smoker, but the risk of being left behind or attracting something eventually forced him to give up. But here she was now, coming towards them...
There was a Hunter. Where he couldn't get a break with Boomers or Jockeys, Moro's bane seemed to be the hooded punks.
And there was one now, lunging for her. The minute her head hit the floor, when it started tearing into her, Mason snapped a bit. Murder written on his face, he rushed to his pinned friend. As soon as it was within arms reach, he let it have it. Punting it off her, he smashed it's face with the butt of his shotgun before bringing his fist into it's head.
"You keep yer bloody hands off her, ye' sweatshirt wearing bastard!". He growled at it, slugging it again. It growled right back at him, pouncing away. Ordinarily, he would have gone after it, but Moro was his biggest concern.
He gently scooped up Moro, shocked by how light she was.
"Keith boyo, grab my med kit and a coke. Need to get Moro patched up.". He smiled warmly at her. "Glad you ain't dead, Moro."
had Mason been paying attention, he would have noticed the Hunter preparing to reclaim it's prey, leaping into the air with it's familier shreik...
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Post by Patrick Schrader on Aug 24, 2010 2:27:54 GMT -5
From the corner of his eye, Patrick saw Mason dashing in a panic rush. It wasn't until he realized that Mason was helping a woman who was getting pounced by a hunter. Mason was truely a fighter as it seemed he would rather beat the hooded-bastard to a pulp than give it a quick death. However, the Hunter played it safe as he as shiftly jumped away for safety, not wanting to mess with the giant man.
Upon the Hunter's retreat, Mason quickly attended to the wounded woman, which Patrick followed suite. Upon looking at the survivor, he realized that she looks quite familiar...
"Moro?" uttered Patrick in shock, "I thought...I thought you were dead..."
But, Moro was exhausted and wounded badly. She was dehydrated and covered in lasterations. Mason attended to the young mechanic; ordering Keith to get some supplies. Patrick wanted to help her, but he had a bad vibe in his spine he heard that familiar high-pitched shriek. It was that damn stubborn hunter, trying to get Moro again. (What's with hunters going after women). But Patrick wasn't going to let him get his prey.
As the hunter leaped in the air, he was intercepted by the wooden stock of Patrick's rifle. The hooded-zombie flew and hit the tile floor hard. The hunter got up but before the creature could recover for another pounce, it's face met the hard fist of the Texan, forcing the hunter to stumble back.
Now Mason might be a giant and quite intimidating, but Patrick was a soldier and knew few moves that would make the strongest of men squirm. The Texan stared into the blood-filled sockets of the hunter.
"Come on," muttered Patrick, "give me your shot."
As if it heard the man's request, the Hunter leaped in the air in an attempt to pounce him. However, Patrick stepped aside, and as the hooded beast missed his target, Patrick grabbed the hunter's hood, tugged him back, and threw another punch at it's face. In a full out attack, began boxing the monster; a left-handed upper cut, another punch with the right. Patrick then rushed him and thrusted him on the wall. He continued to drive his punches into face of the leaper until Patrick threw him onto the ground.
The hunter tried escape for he under-estimated his prey. But the Rancher was on him, as it seems the roles have now reversed. Despite his knuckles were starting to bleed, the Texan continued to wail on the leaper. It's face was now bruised, blood was no longer coming from it's eyes, the Hunter was in defeat. In a finishing move, Patrick carefully placed his hands on the Hunter's head, and with a swift crack, he snaped the hunter's neck, turning the living dead being to another limped corpse.
The Rancher then stood up and stared back at the being he just killed. He wondered what he was like before he was infected. Most certainly he wasn't a bloodthristy killer, but it made the Texan ponder what his life was like. He must of been a kid, maybe 17 or 18, might of had some friends, maybe a girlfriend...Patrick merely sighed as he picked up his rifle and headed back to the group to help Moro.
He knew things weren't suppose to be this way, but here he was back in the warzone.
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